


of flower bouquets and words we said

by artistical_failure



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Everyone in Merlin shared exactly 1 braincell & lancelot had it when he died, M/M, Well - Freeform, and also Arthur is an idiot, anyway enjoy, bc they’re cute and I love them, they haven’t seen it since, theyre both idiots tbf, yet another drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 01:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20300878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistical_failure/pseuds/artistical_failure
Summary: love is in the little things





	of flower bouquets and words we said

It’s summer and love is in the air... or so they say.

Arthur had never quite believed that rubbish, that summer was the season when crushes were confessed and proclamations of undying love were made, but then he comes across Merlin holding a bouquet of flowers for Morgana and he thinks, _huh_.

Arthur isn’t quite sure why it upsets him as much as it does, because logically he shouldn’t care. Merlin has a right to love who he wants to, and Morgana is very beautiful. Merlin wouldn’t be the first man to attempt courting her. But it does upset him and the feeling of frustration, of something ugly — jealousy? — lingers. It follows him around like a weird puppy and sets him on edge.

Merlin has a crush. Everything is changing, and it’s unsettling. So Arthur does what he normally does whenever he feels unsettled.

He makes a joke out of it.

“So,” he says the next day, when Merlin is bustling around his chambers, “where are my flowers?”

Merlin freezes. There’s no other word for it. He stops in his tracks, looking quite like a frightened deer, and Arthur feels something akin to amusement at the expression. It’s comforting to know that that, at least, will never change.

“...What?” Merlin says, carefully, as if treading across a frozen pond.

“My flowers,” Arthur repeats, turning away to hide a smile. “You brought Morgana flowers. I assumed you were bringing them to everyone.”

Merlin frowns at that, as if contemplating what to say next. “You don’t like flowers,” he says finally, with a note of finality in his voice.

Arthur’s smile drops. “What?”

“Flowers,” Merlin repeats. “You don’t like them. You told me once”—he fluffs Arthur’s pillow—“that you thought they were for girls, and that they smelled weird.”

_Had he said that?_ Arthur narrows his eyes, trying to recall, and... yes, yes he had. It had been a long time ago, a few months, just something he’d said in passing as they rode past a field of dandelions. He hadn’t expected Merlin to actually _remember_.

“I—“ He gapes. “You can’t remember to polish my armour, but you remember some obscure remark I made about flowers more than three months ago?” Unbelievable!

Merlin blushes red all the way up to the tip of his ridiculous ears. “I remember to polish your armour, I just choose not to.” Before Arthur can interject, he continues, “And why are you so surprised? I do listen, you know.”

But the thing is: no he doesn’t. Arthur has seen Merlin space out when Gaius is telling him to gather certain herbs, or when Gwen is talking about some rude vendor in the marketplace, and Arthur’s briefly-voiced opinion about flowers is certainly no more important than those conversations. So why did he remember Arthur’s—

Merlin moves the vase on Arthur’s desk over to his dresser. Arthur suddenly remembers mentioning, some weeks ago, how his desk seemed too crowded. He glances at the desk — it seems much more barren than it did when he’d first complained about it.

Something clicks.

“Will that be all, sire?” Merlin asks, drawing Arthur out of his thoughts.

“Yes, that will be all,” Arthur says, and his voice sounds a little strange even to him. “You’re dismissed.”

Merlin nods. Before he can leaves, Arthur calls, “Merlin.”

The manservant turns his head inquisitively.

“...Thank you.”

Merlin raises both eyebrows and smiles. “For not getting you flowers?” he asks, teasing.

Arthur’s mouth quirks up in response. “For the other stuff.”

Merlin looks confused at that but apparently writes it off as Arthur being Arthur, because he nods again and quietly slips out.

It’s summer, alright, Arthur thinks, unable to stop the grin slowly spreading across his face. It’s hot and the flowers are blooming, so they’ve certainly gotten that part right.

But love, he decides, isn’t in the air.

Love is in the little things.


End file.
